


Deities ruin everything.

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [23]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Has Issues, Crisis of Faith, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Eventual Romance, God!Charles, Goddess!Raven, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Oblivious Cupcake Charles, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religion, Slow Build, demigod!Erik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: A new god, patron of geniuses.An old goddess, of tricks, deceit, and vengeance.A demigod, with stone and metal in his bones.An Old One who hungers for the power these three hold.And a motley crew of gods-touched and mortal, humans and mutants, who are more powerful than the Old One can even guess.





	1. In the beginning...

“Hi!”

The student looked up, ready to tell whoever it was to go away—but he didn’t. Because “whoever it was” was actually a god.

The god smiled kindly through his golden nimbus and held out his hand. “Charles Xavier,” he introduced himself to the student curled up on the ground. “You can call me Charles. What’s your name?”

Slowly, the student returned the handshake. “Hank McCoy,” he mumbled. “You’re… you’re the professor on genetics, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Charles replied. “And you’re one of the engineering students. Do you mind me asking what’s wrong?”

Hank gulped, his lip trembling. Then he burst out, “I got a D- on my exam.”

Charles hissed in sympathy. “Oh shit,” he said, which startled Hank, because he had never heard a god curse before. “Now I’m double-glad I never had Jim as my teacher. He’s too harsh. Did you know everyone else got an F?”

Hank stared at Charles, poleaxed. “N-no,” he stammered, “That’s—that’s not possible.”

“It’s true. I was just talking to some of the other students. Here, let’s go to the lounge, I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we’ll talk.”

~

Charles didn’t feel right showing his godhood to students one at a time, but he genuinely liked helping, and if godhood was the only thing that impressed these kids, then so be it. And Hank was a good kid. Scared and unhappy and unsure, but good.

Charles and Hank talked for a long time. It didn’t take much to get Hank to spill his hopes, his dreams, his fears; the poor boy needed a friend. He was only fifteen, on his way to graduating, and he was so young that the other students didn’t really want to associate with him. Charles soothed him, assured him it wasn’t his fault, agreed to talk Jim into letting everyone retake the exam and then grade them _fairly_. He could see the desperation in Hank’s eyes. He _wanted_ to trust. He _wanted_ to find someone safe. But he was so scared.

He’s just fifteen, Charles repeated to himself bleakly. Just a child. And he’s lost his childhood in the pressure of being a genius.

He did not show Hank that his heart was breaking for the boy. He didn’t need pity or patronizing; just someone steadfast who could help. Charles decided in a flash that, until he could convince someone that Henry McCoy was a worthy cause who wouldn’t burn out, he would take up his case.

And that is how Charles gained his first worshipper.

~~~\0/~~~

Raven grinned as she was invoked by another of her followers, the one who was basically her priestess. She set her book aside, took on the guise of an old woman of Caucasian descent, and vanished from the library.

She reappeared in the corner her follower had set aside for worship, and laughed in her scratchy voice, like that of the old goddess who had taught her well. “What is it now, my dear?” she asked slyly, as her follower turned her young face towards her mistress. “Would you like me to humiliate someone again?”

“No, Sly One,” the follower said, shaking her head. “I am very grateful for all that you have done, but my mother is going to make me move back home, and there’s no room for tricksters in her house.”

Raven lost her coy smile, remembering all her follower had let slip of her mother. “What is the situation?” she barked.

Her follower, Hannah, bowed her head briefly before explaining. “My mother heard that I was worshipping you, and she wants to “reclaim” me. My boss also cut my hours, and promoted some boy instead of me.” Hannah scowled, and Raven felt the hatred inside her, kin to her own. “I can’t afford my own place anymore, and I can’t stand a roommate, not in this tiny place. I have to move back. The commute will be cheaper than rent.” Hannah pressed her lips together tightly, then took a breath, looked up into Raven’s wrinkle-ringed yellow eyes, and said, “I don’t know if I can continue worshipping you.”

Raven bent and cupped Hannah’s chin in her hand. “Hannah, my dear, your belief is worship enough,” she replied kindly, already beginning to plan. “But, if you do not wish to go to your Mother…”

“I have to, Sly One,” Hannah whispered bleakly, and there was no sign of a lie on her. There were, however, memories in her eyes, and they were of the evilest kind. “She won’t let me alone until I go.”

Raven smiled, and Hannah shivered. “My dear, my dear. Have you forgotten what I am? Tricks, yes, but also…”

“Vengeance,” Hannah whispered, her eyes widening.

Raven grinned now, showing all her sharp teeth. “You are loyal, and you have introduced many to me,” she chuckled. “How can I possibly let you go without a fight? It will be done in a week. All I ask is that you do not breathe a word of this to anyone, and do not be afraid.” Raven let go of Hannah’s chin and straightened. “A week, dear, and your path will be cleared.”

Hannah’s delighted and adoring face was the last thing Raven saw before she whisked herself away, back to the library, but she heard Hannah’s voice with the ears of her heart; “Thank you, Sly One. Thank you.”

Raven settled herself on the couch, in her normal blue form, and chuckled cruelly to herself. Hannah’s mother would get what was coming to her, and her god would be long in helping her. Raven would make sure of _that_.

~~~\0/~~~

Erik pulled his hat lower and refused to meet anyone’s eyes. They were disembarking from the passenger boat, and he didn’t want anyone to guess who—or what—he was.

He couldn’t help that his eyes were so clearly different. Instead of solid color, the irises swirled, grey and blue and green, an ever-changing tide of color, with pinpricks of white in his pupils. His father’s eyes. Mama had never said anything about his father, except that he was a god, and not the god that he and his parents worshipped; a mountain god, ancient indeed, with a mastery of stone and metal.

As a demigod, Erik only had a fraction of his powers, and the only physical signs were hair white as snow, the eyes, and skin that shifted from the white of his mother to the brown of his father depending on the seasons. It was unnerving for everyone.

So he shuffled down the gangplank with the other passengers, claimed his battered trunk, and trudged to dry land. Hopefully, here in New York City, where deities and descendants passed through constantly, he would be invisible. And hopefully, on new soil, he would be safe.

He went first to the hotel where he had engaged a room, using the money his father had given him when Mama died, and set about planning his next move.

His followers back in Germany would be safe. They were not worshippers of him. They could go back to their lives, as dutiful followers of their first gods. The One who hunted Erik would not bother to kill them—hopefully. He would simply move on.

But Erik did not believe that. His father could sense danger through the earth that made his flesh, the spring water that was his blood; Erik could only sense a faint tingle in his ears. But the tingle had only faded on the boat, not vanished. He was still in danger. He needed allies. Strong ones, hopefully gods as old as or older than his father. The god Erik worshipped was uninterested in the affairs of individual humans and demigods, and focused His attention on preparing for the Great Battle. Erik could not rely on Him.

So Erik drew up a plan, desperate and harebrained and probably insane. He would find the most powerful god who dwelled in this city, and he would ask them for help. If they did not give it, he would make his way through every state until he found someone willing. And then—then they would think of a way to stop the One who hunted him.


	2. In which Charles is uncertain, Raven celebrates, and Erik is warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is gonna be one of those short chapter updated-when-I-feel-like-it stories. Hm. Enjoy!

Charles realized things were getting out of hand when the CIA started sniffing around him.

New gods had to be registered with the government. It was a ridiculous law, since only two gods had ever been born on American soil since the indigenous peoples were slaughtered. But over the years, the definition of “god” had gotten murkier and wider, so that anyone with even a drop of measurable godhood who stepped upon the shores of this hellpit was required to send a report to Homeland Security. Nowadays it was nearly impossible to not have a bit of holiness—especially in places where the gods fucked like rabbits—but America was so depleted of holiness, as the colonizers murdered the original worshippers and desecrated their sacred land, that if you had lived there for five generations, it was almost certain you were human through and through. Or mutant.

Charles had been a mutant, before his death. It was why he’d been chosen as a god. His powers had been too good to go to waste, the goddess who manned the River had told him. So he was sent back, newly anointed.

And now he had to do something, quickly, before the CIA found out that the demigod who worked at the university was actually a true deity with a strong cult.

Hank was praying, one of his small, nervous prayers. Charles could feel him from miles away. Hank was as close to a high priest as Charles was going to get, and they both knew it, and it made both of them uncomfortable. But as a high priest, Hank’s prayers took precedence over the others. So Charles split his attention, teaching a small class about genetics and “riding” on Hank’s shoulder, to better hear his prayer.

“…don’t let me fuck this up,” Hank was mumbling, clutching his binders of material to his chest. “Please, I don’t want to go all tongue-tied again. This whole project is so important—I can’t fuck this up.”

“What do you need?” Charles asked him calmly. Hank didn’t even jump, used to these quick answers.

“I’m gonna stammer,” Hank whispered, “I know I am.”

“Eloquence,” Charles breathed, and the word was filled with Power. It settled gently on Hank’s mind, getting his words in order, helping him find new ones. It was only a small magic, but it was immensely useful. “It’ll be alright, Hank. You are the best man for the job. You are appreciated.”

Hank sighed, feeling the magic take hold, and Charles could feel him relax and spark warmth at the reminder that he did not strive in vain. “Thank you,” he whispered, paused outside the boardroom, and took three deep breaths.

“I’ll come back when you call,” Charles promised, and faded away.

He came back to the classroom to realize he was staring into space and Jean was clearing her throat politely.

“Oh!” Charles smiled at his class, blushing with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else. Ehm. Where did we leave off?”

“You were talking about ribosomes,” Sarah said helpfully.

“Thank you.” He smiled at Sarah and she blushed too, and then he got on with the lecture.

When the class was over, Charles assigned homework, said goodbye, and sat back in his chair as the last student closed the door behind them. His smile fell away, and a worried frown descended. He could feel the approach of two CIA agents down the hall. Quickly, he drew a symbol in the air with his finger, leaving a silver-blue tracery, and breathed on it. It morphed into a globe that expanded to swallow him completely, dimming his natural god-glow to demi-god shimmer.

The door opened, and the agents entered.

The one was a man in a suit with glasses and a grumpy expression. The other was a woman sharply dressed and with a calm face belied by the tightness of her mouth. Charles smiled at them, politely.

“Hello,” he said. “Who are you?”

“You know who we are,” the man agent replied in a foreboding tone. The woman agent shot him a quick glare, then stepped around him to approach Charles, and held out her hand.

“MacTaggert,” she introduced herself briskly. “This is my associate, Levene. We have some questions.”

Charles felt both a ripple of pleasure that she was actually polite, and a chill of dread that they were leaping right into this. He kept his faint, pleasant smile as he shook her hand. “Of course. How can I help you, MacTaggert?”

Levene looked like he’d bitten into something incredibly sour, but MacTaggert’s face softened a little, and amusement touched her expression. From this, Charles gathered that she was not usually acknowledged as the senior agent.

“Is there a more private area where we can talk?” MacTaggert asked first.

“Unfortunately, no. I’m not senior enough here to warrant an office of my own.” A lie, which they would almost definitely find out about. But Charles was not willing to let them into his private sanctum. “I would offer you chairs, but I gave mine away.”

“That’s alright,” MacTaggert replied smoothly, and Levene frowned harder. “This won’t take long.”

~~~\0/~~~

Raven celebrated most of her 112th birthday alone, because Charles was at work and all the other tricksters were busy fucking with people and gods alike. She didn’t mind. She knew Charles would bring her a cake from her favorite bakery, like he always did.

He was so predictable! Sometimes Raven wanted to play a trick on him just to see what he would do. But most of the time she appreciated it. The world of divine politics was precarious enough; if Charles became unpredictable, he could throw everything off, and then there would be an all-out war among the gods.

This was not exaggeration or Raven thinking too highly of him. Charles was a young god, even younger than her—but his words held weight at every divine meeting he attended. And he attended a lot of them.

To celebrate her birthday, Raven put all thoughts of politics aside, and simply pampered herself.

First there was pampering of her physical form, which she didn’t really need but always loved. She went to cityWell in Brooklyn and had a lot of fun there; sauna, soaking, massage, everything they had to offer. Then she went to her favorite salon, the one that catered exclusively to deities, and got a manipedi while she chatted with a goddess of bounty whose full curves Raven envied. But it was a calm envy, and she amused the goddess and the sprites doing their nails with stories of the tricks Raven had played recently. The goddess told them all her predictions for the year’s weather in New York, and that most of the small gardens she had in her charge would flourish, and interesting tales of her sister’s love-life (her sister was a minor goddess of beauty who was being courted by no less than ten gods, although she had a bevy of human women as her lovers, who all knew about each other and were actually quite friendly to one another). It was a very nice session, and Raven was very pleased with the subtle purple of her nails.

Next, Raven went to a fashionable boutique and bought that little black dress she had been eyeing for months. It was cute, it was flirty, it made her feel pretty. She wasn’t trying to attract anyone, she just wanted to be someone people would look at and think was beautiful.

Makeup store next. She went to a very fancy one, that made custom products, and bought lipstick to match her nails and sky blue glitter with yellow flecks for her eyes.

This all done, she went back to the house, changed into the dress, put on the glitter and also some Diamond Crusher lip topper by Lime Crime, and went to meet her friends.

Coyote saw her first, when she arrived at the restaurant, and waved her over with a grin that showed all his sharp teeth. Raven smiled back, and skipped over to the trio of tricksters who awaited her. Puck stopped flirting with a nearby goddess of youth to loudly proclaim, “Goodness gracious, it’s the queen of birds and vengeance! Hide your jewelry!”

Crow punched Puck’s shoulder and hugged Raven tightly when she reached them. “You’ve got us mixed up again, boy,” Crow told Puck, then kissed Raven’s cheek and released her so she could ruffle Puck’s hair and hug Coyote. “Just remember, I created a whole continent, and you are only a fae.”

Rather than take offense, Puck shrugged and grinned. “Fancy a game, old fellow?” he asked wickedly.

“Puck, stop it,” Raven laughed, as Coyote let her go. “You cheat too much.”

“But cheating’s in my blood,” Puck protested, still grinning. “Hey, Coyote, you wanna play?”

“No, thank you,” Coyote replied, shaking his furry head. While the others held human shapes for now, Coyote maintained his animal aspects, including a coyote head and tail. “I don’t feel like being cheated today.”

“Come on, lads, let’s get some lunch,” Raven told her friends, and they followed her to the hostess, who smiled and seated them at a table near a wall so Coyote’s tail wouldn’t get in the way of his sitting or the walking of others.

They talked cheerfully about their latest works. Raven was still a minor goddess, but that was why she was friends with these three; Puck was, as Crow had said, just a fae, and Crow and Coyote no longer had the number of followers that they used to. Raven had always wondered why the latter two even considered hanging out with Puck, who was British, as the majority of colonizers of their lands had been. She assumed it was because he was smaller than them, almost as forgotten, but still filled with delight in his mischief.

Perhaps Coyote liked Raven because she reminded him of another Raven, just as old and powerful as him, but less vigorous than Raven Darkholme, newest goddess. Perhaps Crow liked Raven Darkholme because their names and natures were cousins. She knew for a fact that they both appreciated her taking up the causes of their people with the other tricksters. Raven did not know where she herself came from—she assumed a Western deity had created her. But she was a goddess of vengeance. And Coyote and Crow deserved to have their vengeance.

Puck liked her because she liked him, so that was alright.

The four of them had fun talking, though Crow muttered about not getting any yams and Puck kept drifting back into tales of the old days, and at the end of lunch they all paid their portions and then went to a movie. It was an action movie, lots of explosions and gunshots and car tires screeching, but it was also pretty fun. The four tricksters all made faces at the shoehorned romance.

When the movie was over, Raven’s friends kissed her cheeks and wished her a happy birthday, and then all four of them snapped their fingers at the same time and disappeared home.

Raven stood in the middle of her room and her smile faded. She had just remembered that she had nothing to do that evening. Charles would wish her happy birthday and probably order pizza for them both, but other than that, she had nothing.

A tug of an invocation. She gladly vanished from her room and appeared in crone form before her tiny congregation.

“Well, my dears,” she chuckled, “What do you have for me today?”

~~~\0/~~~

Erik could not live at the hotel, nor did he have the money to. He looked for work at factories and industrial places, and found nothing; he looked for automotive jobs and was turned away.

Out of desperation, he went to the Central Park Conservancy. The person who interviewed him had divine power, but he wasn’t sure if they were a deity or a demigod. They smiled when they finished interviewing him, and said, “I can see your father’s power on you, though I don’t know his name or residence. You’re a son of mountain and forest, spring and river, but your mother’s bloodlines were those of a demigoddess’s granddaughter. You’ve got a touch of mountain quarry from her, too.”

Erik stiffened at the mention of his mother, and clenched his hands. He had wondered why his attraction to metal was stronger than his attraction to plants, but surely it wasn’t because of his mother.

“I think you’ll do well. You won’t see much pay, but we try to keep wages fair. Here, let me introduce you to Logan. He’ll know where best to place you.”

Logan was mortal, but he was calm and did not stare at Erik’s eyes, which other mortals had done before. He was also short. Very short. Erik almost felt he should lean down to speak to him, but he got the impression Logan would kill him for that.

“You know anything about keeping plants?” Logan asked gruffly, looking Erik over.

“Some,” Erik replied. “I was a groundskeeper in Germany.” A lie, of course, but he really did know about plants. Especially trees. He loved trees very much, almost as much as he loved iron and steel.

“Good enough,” Logan grunted, and beckoned. “C’mon, kid, let’s go feel out what you’ll be best at.”

Erik followed him out of the Center and into the park. Logan made immediately for the nearest stand of trees, and Erik followed with no trepidation. The clean earth here murmured to him, though the rocks were unfamiliar and the dirt was not fed by dying forest plants and animals. The trees were not those of his home, but when he put his hand on the bark of the nearest, he heard its whispers and felt calmer. Trees were mostly carbon, but there was iron in this tree, too, the tiniest flecks, helping regulate the carbon dioxide and oxygen. Erik wondered, as he sometimes did, why he was so drawn to iron, when his father had been all about life and living organisms.

Logan was eyeing him thoughtfully. Erik’s mouth tightened.

“So you’re a demigod?” Logan asked, raising his fist and extending claws from between his knuckles to casually swipe at and trim a bit of bush. Erik blinked, surprised, then paid a little more attention; yes, those claws were metal, a type he didn’t know but that still hummed invitingly. And the metal extended into Logan’s flesh, coating his bones so thoroughly that Erik was surprised he was still able to stand, with all that weight on his skeleton.

“Yes,” Erik answered Logan’s question.

“Which god?”

“I don’t know his name. He never told me.”

“What was he the god of?” The claws retracted, and the slits in Logan’s flesh from which they had emerged healed without a scar.

“Mountains,” Erik answered. “Forests, water. Earth, stone, metal. He was a local god.”

“Hmm.” Logan scratched his stubbly chin, still looking at Erik with calculation. Erik did not appreciate that look, but he said nothing. “How old are you, kid?”

“Thirty-five,” Erik replied shortly.

Logan gave a low whistle. “Let me guess, the hair is from your father?” he asked dryly.

Erik was getting tired of this. His father didn’t matter. Erik was away from him, from Germany—from home. And it was for the best. “Yes. Can we move on now?”

Logan smirked, but said, “Yeah, sure. What are your powers, and how did they help you with groundskeeping?”

“An affinity for metal and plants,” Erik answered. “I can tell when plants, especially trees, are sick, and I can find and sometimes manipulate metal, which helped a great deal with finding hidden metal that might hurt my—the plants.” A calculated stumble; he wanted Logan to think he was one of those people who got protective of the grounds in his care. Thankfully, Logan seemed to buy it, and nodded.

“Alright, good. I’ll give you an area tomorrow. Be here at five o’clock sharp, that’s in the morning, and we’ll see how it goes, where you’ll fit in, all of that.”

Erik frowned. “That’s it? That’s all it takes to be hired?”

“Kid, you have no idea how fucked up the police force around here is. They see someone like you, obviously a demigod and obviously not pure white? They will hit you fast and they will hit you hard, especially if you’re not registered. At least if you work for us, we can give you some protection.” Logan slapped Erik’s arm. “Get goin’. See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness.


	3. In Which They All Meet And Erik Spills His Heart

Charles was drained and troubled and had no heart to teach the rest of his students, by the time the agents had left. Levene had attempted to create a good cop/bad cop routine, but MacTaggert had calmly shut that down. But the questions…

Some seemed so harmless that anyone who had not been questioned before would be confused as to why they asked. An innocent would have answered them truthfully. An innocent would have failed this test.

Charles rubbed his forehead, then wearily began setting up his materials for his next class. It had been hard to fake innocence as he lied. He had never been a good deceiver, though Raven had taught him some tricks. She had told him his divinity was not compatible with her many persuasive techniques, but if he tried really hard, he could devise a way to use his extraordinary powers to mislead or even brainwash whoever he wanted. Not that he ever wanted to. The greatest divine power of that sort he’d ever done had been that time he reached into the minds of every struggling mutant student and placed a breath of suggestion that they find a suitable mentor.

Most had done so. And an alarmingly substantial amount had found him.

That was what had brought the CIA. His little “cult” knew that he wasn’t registered, and also knew that the heavy restrictions and fines and possible jail time he faced if that fact were discovered would ruin him beyond salvation. But Scott—because of course it was Scott, the boy was fresh out of high school and not yet as close-mouthed as his brother—had not been as careful as the others with his recruitment. One of the girls he’d tried to recruit had gone straight to the dean with her rumor that there was an unregistered god on university grounds, and since all the other demigods were registered…

Charles smiled as the first students began to arrive, and put aside all thoughts of precarious situations.

This class was his most basic biology class, which he despised teaching. So little of it could be applied to genetics. But that was fine; Bio 101 was not meant to be an intro into any one field. It was a dabbling, something to refresh memories and pique interests. He hated the material, but he loved reading the sparks of interest, of dawning realization, in the minds of those students who liked their work. And he took the surest stars and guided them gently towards classes that would teach them further, classes that would be fun as well as fascinating.

He simply could not stand to see bright stars sullied by boredom, dulled by expectations that did not fit their hearts. He did his best by them, and when any got suspicious, he would smile and say, “I know you have a wonderful mind, and I hate to see it wasted on things that do not intrigue you.”

It was considered lucky, to be told by Charles that their mind was strong. Mostly because it was true. And even the most self-hating, self-doubting mind was easy for him to soothe and uplift.

But for now, Bio 101 was boring, and his students did not like the workload, even though he had told them on the first day that, while he tried to be fair and give them only the amount of studying needed to actually learn what they needed to know, there was no way this class would be easy.

Charles was a little startled by and uneasy about the fact that some of his students were infatuated with him. He had dimmed his god-glow, he did not grace anyone with more of his attention than anyone else unless they were answering a question, but still, their little passions persisted. He was of the mind, and these passions were of the heart; he could not change them as effectively as a deity of emotions could.

Molly was pining especially hard today, and her mutation of turning colors with her emotions meant that her cheeks were a far rosier pink than usual, with her eyes a smarting bubblegum-pink. At least her hair, which she dyed black to hide the colors, did not change. But she kept her pining to longing glances and heavy, silent sighing. Charles could read in her surface thoughts that she was hoping he would ask her to stay behind, so he could ask what was wrong.

Jason was just as bad, and his fear of what his parents would say if they knew he had a crush on his male teacher was just as distracting as Molly’s pining looks. At least Jason didn’t turn colors, although he was obviously depressed. Oh, he took notes, and he did not sigh—but he was just as mopey and longing and that was bad enough. He also was incredibly jealous of Molly, since he was under the mistaken impression that Charles was straight.

Charles did not know how to tell either of them that he was _not_ interested in them, since they were easily twenty years younger than him and he was not the heartless, careless asshole that he had been in his first year at Oxford.

No matter what his past lovers said, he was never going to be like that again.

Another of Charles’ closest worshippers, Sean, was praying. He was not a genius, per se, but he was amusing and quick and smarter than he pretended. If he were to be represented by an animal, it would be a fox, and Charles delighted in having someone so sneaky and playful as one of his priests. This was not an invocation or a plea; it was just Sean’s daily prayer, a leftover habit from his Catholic parents who would not believe their son didn’t want to follow their capricious god. It was the thought that counted, even—or especially—when it came to worship.

Another flare of prayer, farther afield; one of Charles’ followers had moved to Georgia, and she was thanking him for the glib tongue that had got her into the job she held. Charles had been surprised that he was able to feel her from that far away, but now it was simply nice to know she still thought of him.

Charles managed to keep teaching calmly as the back of his mind noted the prayers and filed them away for later examination. He managed not to let his gaze linger on Molly, who was now pale violet with the force of her yearning, or Jason, who was trying not-so-subtly to catch Charles’ eye. There were three or four others in this class who had crushes on him, but they were just baby-crushes, so he felt no fear when he looked at them.

This was the last class of the day. Charles said goodbye to them all and started packing up as soon as he could. Jason and Molly were lingering on either side of the door, glaring at each other. Charles yearned to simply tell them pointblank that he would never feel more than cordial towards them, damn the consequences—but neither of them had said anything, and he had never told anyone just how strong his telepathy was. So he did not dare.

He forced a smile after he had finished packing and settling his briefcase, and saw that the two still lingered. “I am very sorry to both of you,” he began, “But I haven’t the time to help with questions.”

“It’s not a question on the work,” Molly interrupted, turning towards him, and going absolutely scarlet as she found courage to voice her feelings. “I—I was wondering—are you single? Because I like you. A lot.”

Jason swallowed hard. Charles could not help a sigh.

“Miss Hendrik, I am much too old for you,” he told her gently, “And our statuses as teacher and student have very clear boundaries. Besides which, I am not interested in a romantic relationship, with either of you.” He looked to Jason as well, and the boy had gone absolutely white. They both looked devastated. Surely they hadn’t actually thought…! “I am perfectly happy on my own, and you both deserve better. If you will excuse me, I’m going to be late.” He passed between them and wheeled down the corridor, trying hard to ignore the immense distress behind him.

Instead of going straight home, Charles decided to visit Central Park. It was still afternoon; he could sit at a table and work in the sunshine, in the relative peace that was as close as he ever got to the gardens and acres at home. Yes. He would visit the park.

He would’ve taken the bus, except he missed it by minutes. He scowled and pulled out his cellphone, speed-dialing the only mutant-friendly taxi service he knew of who catered to the disabled. It was very odd; the American government was obsessed with documenting divinity, but the general populace was more wary of mutations than gods. Even the sheep who hated whoever their chosen politician hated were more likely to back away from a mutant than a demigod. Charles had a theory there were more mutant politicians than anyone wanted to know about… but he couldn’t share that theory without inciting alarm. So he kept it to himself.

Darwin was the driver who picked him up today, and they chatted cheerfully as they drove. Darwin was a mutant _and_ a demigod; a powerful combination, but one he controlled and coped with easily. He was not one of Charles’ worshippers, but he knew what Charles was, since his boyfriend Alex was one of Charles’ inner circle. And he always had news, because while his mutation was invincibility, his divinity was gossip. He could follow the threads of gossip easily, reach their source, and find the truth, all with a simple twist in his mind. Charles admired him greatly, though Darwin often played it down.

“It’s not as good as all-purpose telepathy,” he’d once told Charles. “I can find the truth, sure, and I can ferret it out without force often enough—but it’s one thing to be able to follow the threads and another to follow, control, and manipulate.”

Charles hadn’t said anything about how ethical telepaths did not “control and manipulate” people. For one thing, it would’ve been a lie. For another, that would have sparked a very tense debate, and he didn’t want that. He selfishly did not want to drive away someone he could talk to easily.

So they talked comfortably and cheerfully, and made it to the park with no upsets.

“Thank you, Darwin,” Charles said as he opened the van door. “Wonderful to see you again.”

“Wonderful to see you, too, Charles,” Darwin replied, grinning.

The park was quiet, which was nice. Charles wheeled down a path, humming, until he came to one of the sections of park with picnic tables. He wheeled up to the end of one and began to set up, weighing pages down with his travel mug and the tiny metal figurines he carried instead of paperweights.

He loved the figurines. They were of Raven and her friends; Crow, Coyote, Puck, Br’er Rabbit, Eris, and Hitar Petar. Eris was functionally Raven’s older sister; nobody really knew where Raven came from, but Eris had taken her around the world to learn her powers and be taught new ones. That was how Raven had met all these others, and convinced them to help her make a council of tricksters, similar to the pantheons of other deities, but much looser, to suit all their precocious natures. Br’er Rabbit didn’t like Charles, but Charles admired him, so he did his best to be polite and not get angry when Rabbit twisted his words around and tripped him up. It was healthy to be challenged.

Charles touched each figurine gently, smiling at their sly little faces cunningly carved, and arranged them so they would hold down papers but not be knocked over by a careless movement.

He was completely absorbed in his work, comfortable in the bright sun and soft breeze, when he felt a mind begin to approach.

His awareness snapped to that mind. It was a demigod. It wasn’t like any he knew, though. It had the flavor of mutation, just like Darwin—no, not like Darwin. It almost brought to mind a smell, like hot metal and gravel. This person was a mutant, but the mutation was dormant. How was that possible? There were many years on that mind, the divinity was mature and full, but the mutation—!

“You’re a god.”

Charles’ head snapped up, and he stared at the man standing a few yards away.

He must’ve only been in his forties, but his hair and eyebrows were white as snow, making his copper skin look darker. His eyes swirled with colors, almost hypnotizing—but it wasn’t the colors that held Charles still as he stared. It was the raw power held in check that showed in the grim set of his geometric face, the solidness of his stance. His mind was steel and stone, but he had the air of an avalanche just waiting for the single pebble. He was dangerous. He was very dangerous.

And Charles had always been a sucker for the dangerous ones.

“Perhaps,” he answered the demigod, only just then noticing that he wore the uniform of a park gardener and carried a hedge clipper. For some reason, the idea that an avalanche would take on the job of gardener was comforting. “Who might you be?”

The gardener narrowed his eyes, deliberating. Charles knew he could simply reach into his head and find out himself, but he really didn’t want to. Finally the man said, “Erik.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Charles said politely. “My name is Charles. Well, Erik, seeing as you have no god-glow, I’m a bit surprised as to why you’d say I, myself, am a god.”

“Because your blood is different,” Erik replied frankly, taking a cautious step forward. Why the caution? “Humans, mutants, and demigods all have similar blood—but yours is different. The iron feels strange.”

Charles stared at him, absolutely baffled. “Um...”

Erik’s eyes were very intense, as he asked, “What are you the god of?”

Charles bit his lip for a moment. But if this Erik even thought of exposing Charles, Charles could simply wipe him. Carefully, Charles opened his awareness a little more, knowing that if a trained eye looked, they would see his glow increasing. But he needed to, to monitor Erik’s thoughts. The general feel was… desperate. Erik had been looking for a god, any god, for a very long time, and he was desperate to know if Charles could help him.

Sometimes Raven accused Charles of being too much of a White Knight. But honestly, a beautiful, dangerous stranger needs help and Charles is available? He’ll be any kind of knight for them.

“I’m a god of intelligence,” Charles admitted. “Patron of geniuses, if you will. And a telepath.”

Erik’s stony expression suddenly changed. His eyes brightened, his brow relaxed, and a tiny smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Intelligence, and a telepath,” he murmured. “Yes. That would be useful.” He frowned again suddenly, and Charles read him halting his own churning, hopeful thoughts. A feeling of disgust crossed Erik’s mind, that he would be so weak as to hope when nothing was certain. Charles suppressed the immediate desire to take Erik’s hand and tell him that everything was going to be alright. Erik was no uncertain freshman, no self-doubting postgrad; Charles could not in all honesty tell him that _anything_ was going to be alright.

Wait. When did Erik get so close? And why wasn’t Charles alarmed by that?

Erik suddenly sat on the bench and leaned forward, towards Charles, gripping his clippers tightly. His mind was sharp and focused once more. “I need your help,” he began, soft and fast. “I—have an enemy, and I need to fight—”

Charles immediately raised his hand, alarm flashing through him. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t take part in divine wars.”

Erik gaped at him, surprised for some reason. “But all gods fight,” Erik said, as if this were an unshakable truth.

It was Charles’ turn to frown. “Where did you learn that? No, war among gods is dangerous and costly. Not just in terms of divine lives, but mortal, as well. The only god I can think of who would want to start a war is Loki, but since they’re imprisoned until the end of the world, they don’t really count.”

“It’s not war.” Erik scooted closer, and Charles tensed, for now Erik was close enough to smell, and he really did smell like hot metal and gravel, and fire and rotting wood and anger. “This enemy, he only wants _me_. I need to defeat him so he won’t turn on any other gods. He needs to be stopped.”

Charles looked into Erik’s intense face, and decided to take the plunge, and dip a little further into Erik’s mind.

_A whirlwind of thought catches him up and drags him through a brain trained to fight, a body shaped to attack, a spirit indomitable—memories flash before his mind’s eye, of fear, of flight, of holding back a Darkness that threatened to swallow an entire village—memories of childhood, before the divinity awoke, before he knew his father was anything other than a hermit with a strange aura, a mother’s love, a family’s protection, a community that held together grimly in the face of those who threatened them—and the softest moments, moments cherished and half forgotten. Moments the viewer will never understand. And that is okay._

Charles blinked, and he was back in his own mind. Erik was standing, his expression stunned and the colors of his eyes whirling so fast it almost made Charles sick. He had to say something, before Erik decided to stab him with the clippers.

“Okay,” Charles said, breathless with how deeply Erik’s mind had dragged him. “I—okay. I believe you. Ah. Can you give me details?”

Erik sat again, very slowly. Could it be he didn’t know how much Charles read? Well, his mutation certainly wasn’t telepathy, so maybe he didn’t. That whirlwind hadn’t been much help, anyway; all the details currently being filed away in the back of Charles’ head, in the neat little folder labeled “Erik Lehnsherr”, were nothing to do with the current predicament.

“He found me a few years ago,” Erik said shortly, “And he’s been after me ever since.”

“Why?”

Erik didn’t answer.

Charles swallowed a wheedling question and said, “I’m sorry. I… have a habit of asking too many questions. Um.” He hesitated, because his instincts, which had never been as wise as Raven’s, were telling him to go all in with this man and fuck the consequences. But he couldn’t do that. Looking into those wary, ever-changing eyes, he couldn’t go all in with him.

His caution and good sense vanished when Erik asked, “Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Charles answered immediately.

The smile Erik gave him was worth the risk.

~~~\0/~~~

Raven had just come back from bargaining with a very grumpy naiad for a bit of magical algae, cradling the bespelled jar in which the plants floated carefully in her arms, when Charles called her name.

Raven carefully locked the algae in her window-vault, which she kept just for the plants needed for tricks, and skipped to the stairs, sliding down the rail and flying off the end to wrap her arms around Charles very tightly. He laughed and hugged back.

“A good day?” he asked as she pulled back, smiling up at her.

“Absolutely,” she replied smugly, twitching his collar straight. “Me an’ Puck cheated Zeus out of some lightning bolts, which we’re gonna give to Thor so he can get that dwarf buddy of his to make us some magic rings. Oh, it’s going to be fun!” She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and her head snapped up, her entire body tensing. There was a demigod by the door, frowning at her. She scowled back. “Charles,” she said, “There appears to be an intruder.”

“He’s not an intruder,” Charles sighed, sounding a bit guilty. “Raven, this is Erik. He’s a demigod and I’ve promised him my help. Erik, this is my sister, Raven. She is a goddess of vengeance.”

Raven was pleased that Charles had left out her trickster bit—he always did, of course, that’s why she put up with him, he didn’t stand in her way—but she was wary of letting this Erik know anything about herself. He looked suspicious. Also he seemed intrigued by her title and that made her even more wary.

“Tea?” Charles asked them both, his eternal answer to every problem.

The three of them made their way to the kitchen, Erik letting there be space between himself and Raven. Charles started boiling water, and Raven got out the biscuits and cups and things. Tea was almost sacred to Charles, and he was very particular about it, but he usually didn’t care about the other accouterments. Raven got out the stuff they kept meaning to throw away but never did; chipped, discolored, misshapen, and not at all fit for company. But Charles turned from putting the kettle on the stove and smiled to see the squat, ugly teapot they favored when it was just them.

“What kind of tea would you like?” Charles asked Erik, as Raven opened the cupboard to show off their stunning array of teas. Some was boxed, some was bagged, some were in jars, and all were what Charles called “proper” tea; no herbals or tisanes in _this_ house, no _sir_. Only different kinds of tea leaves, and sometimes other flavors added. Raven had coffee, but that was _hers_ , and she did not share with strangers.

“Um.” Erik was staring at the brightly-colored clutter of teas. “Do you have Ostfriesentee?”

Raven looked at Charles and saw his face light up like Erik had just handed him the Key to Wisdom. “Oh, yes!” Charles replied with unseemly enthusiasm. “I have a lot, Raven won’t drink it but I find it’s best to drink it with someone else and Ororo is on holiday so I haven’t touched it. It’s the red tin, Raven!” Throughout this short speech, Charles had been rolling to the pantry; he disappeared inside, rummaged around, and came out with his box of rock sugar. Balancing it on his lap, he went to the fridge and got out the cream. Raven reached up into the ‘student tea’ shelf (where Charles kept the stuff he didn’t mind sharing with his student-worshippers) and found the tin needed at the very back. Erik sidled over to the kitchen table and sat, looking bewildered. Raven kept her smile to herself as she set up the teapot. Charles took over after that, and Raven watched as Erik watched Charles. It seemed the demigod was a little cowed by how precise and perfect Charles was with the tea.

It was only when Charles was pouring the cream that Erik said, “Do you stir, like other uncivilized British?”

Charles snorted contemptuously, and Raven grinned. “Absolutely not,” Charles told Erik firmly, tapping the cream spoon gently against the edge of his cup to shake off the last drop. “It’s not Ostfriesentee if you stir, I know that much.”

Erik smiled at Charles, and Raven’s grin vanished. She knew that look. She’d seen it in too many people. Erik was charmed, utterly charmed, and Raven knew that was dangerous. Charles didn’t need his heart broken again.

Erik saw her glaring and shuttered his emotions immediately. Charles looked up sharply, eyes flashing between the two of them; Raven showed him a bland smile as she raised her cup and sipped. It was disgusting, as usual, though Charles had remembered to put more sugar and cream and less tea in her cup. That was nice of him. Still, she could also tell that Charles was in White Knight Mode, which meant he would disregard glaring holes in Erik’s story because he wanted to help. Ugh. She’d have a fight on her hands with this one.

Raven thought of something, and narrowed her eyes at Erik, doing that little twist in her mind that would show her the truth if he lied. She wasn’t a telepath—but she knew deceit when it came calling. “So, Erik, what brings you to our humble abode?” she asked casually.

“Charles invited me,” Erik replied firmly, and took a sip of tea. His eyes widened, and he set the cup down very carefully before telling Charles, “That is exactly like my zayde used to make. How the fuck did you know?”

Charles did surprised innocent like no other, and Raven was so proud of him, though he glowed orange in her sight as the lie dripped from his lips like honey: “I… I didn’t. I’m sorry, do you not like it?”

“No, I—” Erik stopped, and frowned at his cup for a long moment. Then he looked up again and said, “It’s delicious.”

Charles smiled. The orange glow vanished. Raven was disgruntled to see that Charles was as charmed by Erik as Erik was by him. “Thank you.”

Raven tried to think of how to catch Erik as she took another tiny sip of tea. He _had_ to be lying about something. Everyone always lied. It was the nature of sentient beings to lie and deceive.

She set her cup down and grabbed a biscuit. “Why are you in New York?” she asked Erik bluntly, and was vaguely surprised that Charles did not protest her manner.

Erik turned his frown on her, now. “I needed a change of scenery,” he said, and the orange blazed around him like fire.

Raven smiled. It was not nice or polite. “Nicely done,” she purred, “But that was a lie. The truth, now.”

“Raven, please,” Charles murmured soothingly, but he didn’t mean ‘please be nice’. Raven liked how well they understood each other. It came from being brother and sister for 150 years.

Erik’s eyes flicked between Charles’ placid face and Raven’s cruel smile, and finally he said, “I need allies.”

The orange faded. Raven was almost disappointed. But then she realized there was still a shimmer of orange to him, dull and almost brown. She leaned her chin in his hand and her elbow on the table. “And?” she prompted.

He scowled at her, but said nothing. She waited patiently. Charles waited patiently. They were gods; their physical forms were only a hundred years old, but their spirits were far older, and they had learned patience at the knees of the Ancients. Erik was forty-five and mortal. He would wear down before them.

And he did. He drank his tea, poured himself another cup, and all the time his face got redder and redder as Raven and Charles waited. Finally he set his cup down and blurted, “I thought I would be safe here.”

The orange dissipated. Raven sat up and nodded. “Understandable,” she replied, and Erik looked at her with an extremely startled expression. “What? You’re not lesser for wanting to be safe while you gather allies. Keeping yourself out of sight so you don’t get killed before you have your revenge isn’t cowardice.”

“It’s not exactly revenge...” Erik muttered, the startled expression fading to an uncertain frown.

“Sure it is,” Charles soothed, and drank some tea. “You are getting revenge for being driven out of your home. You are getting revenge for being threatened. You are getting revenge for those who were lost to the One who wanted your power.” He smiled apologetically as Erik looked at him sharply. “I’m sorry. I, ah… I told you I’m a telepath. In the park—I had a look at your memories. Just the latest ones—” he flared orange in Raven’s vision “—I don’t like to pry.” The orange faded.

Erik’s mouth tightened and he narrowed his eyes at Charles. Charles looked at him soberly, a faint apologetic cast to his features. Raven waited for Erik’s outburst of anger—

But it never came. Instead, Erik’s taut shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “If you know that much,” he began slowly, “Then I suppose you should know the whole.”

“I think that would be very helpful, please,” Charles murmured.

“Fine.” Erik rubbed his forehead, wearily. Raven undid the twist that showed lies. If she kept it up for too long it would get too sensitive. She would question him later if she didn’t like his story.

“I believe it began with my father,” Erik started. “My mother met him in the forest on Beltane—our family is Jewish, so we don’t celebrate Beltane, but the local god still came to my mother and asked her to bear his child. She refused, because she had only just buried her husband, Jakob. She didn’t want a lover. He left her alone.

“The next year, she was in the forest again, and he asked her to bear his child. She said no. He left, but he also promised to protect her and the village, because even if she would not lay with him, he was fond of her. My father is very good at understatement.” A wry twist at the corner of his mouth told Raven and Charles that he did not begrudge his father this trait. “He killed a bear that tried to attack my uncle when he was hunting. He redirected an avalanche, too, so that it didn’t harm us. He really did look after us—which is probably why my family started getting suspicious. At first they thought it was God, but then my father actually walked up to the rabbi in the street and told him that he’d appreciate it if everyone would stop thanking someone else for _his_ hard work.

“He proposed to Mama in the street, too. That was Mama’s favorite story; how she’d just rejected another goyim who thought she ought to be flattered he liked her, and then suddenly my father was there, looking like—well, like a mountain god, and he got down on one knee and asked Mama very formally if she would honor him with her hand. And she told me that when she touched his hand she knew he loved her.” Erik’s slight smile faded, and he brooded down at his cup of cold tea. “There was a lot of unpleasantness, obviously. Insults. Cruelty. Even though Mama didn’t have me until she and Father had been living in the same house for a year, people called her horrible names. Father couldn’t even take revenge, because then the talk of him actually being a demon would be bolstered.

“I suppose Mama raising me to be faithful to God was enough to quiet most of them. I knew Father was a god, but he wasn’t _our_ God. He was powerful, but he didn’t govern us. He didn’t want to, I don’t think. He was happy just to be with Mama and me.”

Raven realized this story was making her uncomfortable. She glanced warily at Charles, and almost groaned in exasperation. He had his chin in his hand and he was listening with the most rapt and sympathetic expression he’d ever worn. A romantic, her brother. A romantic who didn’t seem to mind divine hierarchies. Erik didn’t notice Raven’s irked expression, talking almost exclusively to Charles. Raven wondered if either of them would notice if she just walked out.

“And we were happy to be with him, honest. But then Mama died, and—” Here Erik’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. Raven looked away. It felt indecent to look upon his grief when they didn’t even know each other.

“What happened, Erik?” Charles asked softly, and Raven didn’t have to ask to know that Charles was utterly besotted already. But this was too intense for her. She had never liked listening to other people pour their hearts out. She stood silently, and edged towards the door, as Erik took a deep breath and managed to get himself under control.

Then she froze, as Erik said, “ _He_ came to the village. The God In Grey. He came and told my father to either give me up or die. It took both of us—me and Father—to keep the village whole when he attacked. And I had to run. My father, my followers, my friends—they were in danger. So I ran.”

Raven’s breath caught. She couldn’t bear it. No more. No more. She left the kitchen, and ran to her room. When she got there, she threw herself on her bed and hugged her pillow fiercely, eyes squeezed tight against memories of gods in grey and friends in danger.

She told herself that it was the run that had made her heart pound in her ears, and not fear.

~~~\0/~~~

Erik still wasn’t sure why he had spilled his entire history to Charles; he just knew that looking into those bottomless blue eyes, that pale and freckly face, full of empathy and trust, it had been impossible to resist the urge to let it out. Maybe Charles had controlled his mind, but maybe not. Maybe it had been the tea, the goddess who knew when he lied, or the weight lifting from his heart with every word.

Whatever had made him talk, at the end, he was almost glad of it. Mostly he was embarrassed, but he also felt… understood. And tired. He drank the last of his stone-cold tea and sighed heavily.

“So now you know,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Charles replied softly. “You need allies. We can help. I don’t know many gods that we could turn to your side quickly; but my worshippers, they will help you if I ask, and if you convince them of your sincerity.” His soft expression firmed up enough to smile faintly at Erik’s surprise. “I have no doubt they will give you their loyalty if you show them that you will not misuse them.”

“But I’m just a demigod,” Erik objected. “And how can humans help?”

“Because not all are humans.” Charles braced his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers in front of his face, his stare piercing. Erik wondered what powers Charles had. “My little cult is almost exclusively mutants, demigods, or both. They came from all over the country to me, and now they’re spreading, recruiting for me. There’s still a knot here in New York that is faithful to me, and me alone. Raven has a cult that adores her, and she’s on a council that, if approached properly, may help you. We can do this. We can defeat this god in grey.”

Erik knew it was because Charles was thinking that, if the God In Grey crossed the ocean to find Erik, he would undoubtedly attack others as well. But the thought that Charles was offering all this simply because Erik himself was in trouble—it made a warm feeling in Erik’s chest.

“Who are your cult?” Erik asked Charles.

Charles smiled. “Come to Columbia University on Monday at noon, and I’ll introduce you to my study group. Would you like more tea?”

“Yes, please.”

They drank in silence together, and Erik was surprised to find that he felt… safe, here. In this cold, hulking building full of whispers and creaks, this kitchen was full of light and the scent of tea and the promise of help. He looked at Charles, who looked at him, and then the god smiled so sweetly that Erik’s heart squeezed tight.

“You’re not alone, Erik,” Charles said, and there was a strange reverb to his voice that made that simple statement into such utter fact that Erik believed it without question. His eyes felt hot and full for a moment; he blinked hard.

“Shall I take you back to the boarding house, now?”

“Please,” Erik said—but it came out a croak, because his throat was tight with some odd emotion. Something like relief, something like hope, something like fear, something like trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose more of Charles and Raven's backstories will feature later.
> 
> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness
> 
> Edit: I realized at 11:30 PM that I had Royally Fucked Up but it's 1:35 AM and I think I have explained the discrepancies I'm so sorry I'll probably post next chapter very soon so as to fix this.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


End file.
